


The Replacement

by MadeofLilies



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Action & Romance, Age Difference, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Professionalism out the window
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-07-12 07:29:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19942450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadeofLilies/pseuds/MadeofLilies
Summary: Jim accepts Flo’s proposal for a replacement as a last measure, but never once realizes quite what that entails.





	1. The Replacement

**Author's Note:**

> Pearlman is a placeholder surname for the reader.

_“An entire month?”_

Callahan almost drops his coffee when Chief Hopper’s booming voice echoes in the station.

_“Well, I’m sorry, Chief, but the doctors insist they can’t Krazy Glue my hip back in place.”_

Flo’s voice is barely loud enough to make out, but the younger officer has trained in the art of eavesdropping. Besides, they’ve left the door open.

_“And what’s gonna happen while you’re gone?”_

A familiar pair of glasses appear at the chief’s doorway.

“We could make a call to the Sheriff’s Office, ask for a replacement.”

“That’s gonna take weeks! And who’s gonna answer the phones until then, Callahan, you?”

The younger man flushes and returns to his office in silence.

Powell snorts in his cup.

Flo seems unaffected by the chief’s temper, only wrinkling her nose when his voice raises.

“There’s no need for that, I already have a solution.”

“And what’s that?”

“My niece can replace me while on medical leave, or until the Sheriff’s Office sends someone else.”

“Your niece?! What is this, Flo’s Day Care?”

“You really want to hear the answer to that?”

“Look, Flo, I don’t have the time for this. I’ve got everyone up my ass about a million different cases.”

Jim is tired, the bags under his eyes deepening with every sleepless night. Hawkins has been a mess lately.

“I know, that’s why I took care of everything. She’s gonna come in from Indianapolis, stay at my place. She’s got plenty of experience, and plenty of patience to put up with the likes of you. She’s perfect.”

He takes a generous drug of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke with closed eyes.

There used to be a time when Flo would mind, but not anymore.

Her lungs are done for after years in this job.

“She’s worked for police before?”

“No, she’s a regular secretary,” she watches as the man scrunches up his face, ready as ever to oppose, “but this ain’t FBI, chief. All she’s gotta do is answer calls and help with filing.”

“Fine, but I’m still calling sheriff’s office. Let’s just hope your darling doesn’t fuck up till then.”

* * *

_**A week later…** _

He’s late. He knows he is because, on regular days, he only ever gets to listen to the first few minutes of Joel’s morning chat on the radio before he’s parked outside the station. But this isn’t a regular day and the show’s first segment is over by the time he drives up.

It’s so cold at this time of the year, the engine keeps making a rumbling noise, but Jim finds he doesn’t have the energy to care anymore. He runs on more cups of coffee than hours of sleep nowadays.

The minute he enters the station, something feels wrong. Where there’s normally the maddening ringing of phones fading into the soft chatter of his fellow officers, now there is silence.

“What the hell is going on here, some zombie apocalypse?”

Callahan is out of it; one hand around his cup and another in some newspaper. His gaze keeps going back and forth between the paper and the chief’s office.

“Earth to Callahan, you want to tell me what you’re looking at?”

“I-I’m sorry, Chief. Just caught up in the news.”

Powell snorts somewhere in the background, “That and Miss Pearlman.”

The look on Chief Hopper’s face is deadly. He’s most certainly not in the mood for playing around.

“Err, that’s the new secretary, sir, Flo’s replacement.” Jim’s eyes follow Powell’s finger and land on your figure through his office window. You’re leaning on his desk, answering his phone and jotting down things on your notebook so quickly, he swears it’s just scribbling.

Your hair falls in your face from the movement, but it doesn’t take long to realize just how young you are.

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s a college girl in there! I didn’t know notes for biology class were considered ‘plenty of experience’.“

“Oh come on, chief, it’s not that bad. We spoke plenty, she’s been out of college for some time now.”

“Yeah, and straight to working at McDonald’s with the rest of the pimply teenagers, I’m guessing.”

The hat is thrown off his head, hands moving to unbutton his shirt when he realizes he can’t breathe.

When he turns out to face the others, his face is flushed.

“All of you do me a favor and don’t prop your ear behind the door.”

_Oh, this is bad._

The chief’s steps are unusually light while he makes his way to the office and closes the door behind him. He makes no move towards his office though, chest-puffing with every harsh breath while he waits for the call to be over.

Once his breathing quiets, he can finally listen to you. Your voice is soft, there’s something soothing about it and it’s a sharp contrast against the woman screeching in the other line. He swears he doesn’t know how you don’t hang up. The station has been getting such calls all week and it’s a recipe for migraines.

“Of course, ma’am, we’ll keep you updated. Have a nice day.”

Oh yeah, he likes your voice. It’s softer than Flo’s, maybe because you’re still new to the job.

The moment you put down the headset, he’s clearing his throat a little too harshly. You whip around at the booming noise and suddenly you seem so small in front of this mountain of a man.

“Hello, sir. I’m-”

“I know who you are, Miss Pearlman, let’s skip the introductions. I’ m Chief Hopper and those are my things you’re touching. Now tell me, was it an emergency?”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“The call. Was it an emergency?”

“Um, no, not really. It was just a woman making complaints about the next-door neighbors, something about their dog trespassing. I got everything written down here.”

Jim also finds he likes your handwriting. It’s a nice change from everyone’s chicken scratch.

“Well then, I would appreciate it if you didn’t go into my office when I’m not there unless it’s an emergency.”

The look on your face reminds him of a kicked puppy. _  
_

_Oh, this is so bad._

“I’m sorry, sir, the other officers said it’s okay and I didn’t want to leave the call unanswered.”

“It’s fine this time, but keep in mind, everything you do runs by me, not them.”

“Of course, chief.”

“You know, when Flo said her niece would be filling in, I expected someone…”

“Older?”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re a great girl, but this is serious business we handle here.”

“I’m her grand-niece, actually, but she didn’t want to tell you because she knew you would be hesitant.”

Hopper laughs at the older woman’s nerve.

“Huh.”

“And she was right, you are hesitant.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Chief Hopper, sir, my aunt was very specific about my responsibilities here. I can answer calls, make coffee, assist with filing and I’m a very good typist if I must say so. I’ve worked as a secretary for three different employers before and I can give you their numbers.”

He can’t look at you.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re Flo’s family, or maybe it’s that you’re crazy pretty.

Today is off on a really bad start and he doesn’t feel like playing bad cop.

“There’s no need.”

There’s something heart-stopping about your smile when you look at him.

“Then give me a week to prove to you I can do this. And if you still have your doubts, you can always call in the sheriff’s office. Just one week.”

He barks out a laugh and it’s a sound he hasn’t made a while in this office.

“Flo really didn’t spare you any details, did she?” he watches your nose wrinkle the tiniest bit, lips parting when you laugh. He quite likes it.

“No, sir.”


	2. Temporary

His head is killing him. The phones have been blowing up all day and not even for good reason. Mrs. Banks was in hysterics over one of her cats being run over.

The fact that he’s drowning in paperwork doesn’t help either. All this work for stolen wallets and speeding tickets. With every stamp, memories of his training come back. Hours upon hours in the shooting range and passing field tests came to this.

The knock on his door is soft, an indication of who’s waiting behind it. He quickly stabs his cigarette on the ashtray, always mindful of the smoke around you, even though you’ve never once complained. He mutters a soft ‘come in’ that almost fades in the background noise but you hear it.

“Am I interrupting, sir?”

“Nothing that can’t wait. You needed something?”

You smile and move closer, your bright dress catching his eye. It’s knee-length, luckily for him, but wraps too nicely around your upper half. He didn’t even know he liked yellow.

“Yeah, it’s about the Swanson case again. The husband is back in town and keeps calling and making threats and he won’t listen when I say there’s nothing we can do about it.”

You watch the chief’s face closely for a reaction, always prepared to calm him down when his face flushes all the way down to his neck and he’s about to throw fists with a civilian. Instead, his eyebrows raise.

It still sends a shiver through you.

“He made threats?”

You almost regret coming to him with this. “Yeah, but nothing I can’t handle-“

“Next time he calls, you hand him over to me, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

You smile at each other, his eyes slowly drifting down to your lipstick before returning to his paperwork. He is expecting you to leave, but instead, you place something on his desk. The divine smell of freshly brewed coffee invades his nostrils and makes him feel alive again.

“What’s this?”

Jim knows damn well what it is, you bring him coffee every day, precisely when the clock hits four and he’s buried in papers and misery. Yet this isn’t the watery brew of the station’s archaic coffee machine.

He recognizes the logo on the cup as the coffee shop in the new mall.

“It’s coffee, sir. Black as always.”

“And how d’you get it? Because I’m pretty sure you haven’t left your desk all day.”

“A good secretary never reveals her secrets. But since you asked so nicely, I heard Powell and Callahan were heading to Starcourt for lunch and asked them to bring back some decent coffee.”

Hopper smiles and it’s the most charming look you’ve seen on him, a childish grin that lifts ten years off his handsome face. You should do this more often.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to, it’s all my part of my devious plan to make the boss man like me.”

He smirks into his cup, “Well, it’s working.”

“Good to know.”

You leave him with a grin and haunting glimmering eyes that plague his mind long after you’ve disappeared behind the door. It seems you were true to your word, as much as he’d like to deny it.

Less than a week later and you have reached the golden standard that Flo set, if not surpassed it. There’s something oddly refreshing about having someone young and energetic around.

All he has to do is tilt his head a little and he can see you through his blinds, yellow dress gathering around your legs and graceful hands typing away eighty words per minute.

It takes an absurd amount of willpower to go back to the paperwork.

Just one more hour.

* * *

What an absolute lie. It’s nearing eight and he’s not even halfway done and whoa, there goes the migraine again. He’s begged you to clock out at least twice now, everyone else is long gone. You don’t budge.

Still typing tirelessly, like a machine built for this very purpose. A very pretty machine, he might add.

His stomach is grumbling, desperate for food. He had to ask Joyce to take El at her place so she doesn’t starve too. This job is taking a toll on everyone around him.

He stands up slowly and makes his way towards your desk but you barely notice, too preoccupied with stapling papers together and blowing hair out of your face when it somehow escapes the generous amounts of hairspray.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

You blink up at him through painted lushes, confused and tired, but ever determined to do your job. One could even think they pay you well. Jim knows otherwise.

“You want me to go get you something, sir?”

He laughs in disbelief, “I want you to go home and get some rest.”

“But we’re not finished here.”

“We never are. So gather your stuff and head home where your sweetheart is waiting, hopefully with some food on a plate because I know you skipped lunch too.”

He watches as you smile and rub your eyes, mindful not to smudge the mascara. “I’m afraid there’s no one waiting for me back home, especially not with food. I’m staying at my aunt’s and she’s still in the hospital so…”

“…Pasta and loneliness?”

You snort out a laugh, the most unladylike sound he’s ever heard from you but he quite likes it. Mostly because he caused it first.

“Mostly, yeah.”

“I get that. Grab your purse then.”

Your eyebrows scrunch - an almost childish expression that reminds him of El.

“Why?”

“We’re going to dinner.”

* * *

The drive all the way to Enzo’s is beyond unnerving, despite being in there for mere minutes. Jim is so lost in the odd situation (and how he ever thought this was a good idea), he doesn’t even think about turning on the radio and you’re too shy to suggest so. Eight minutes pass in complete and unbearable silence.

He keeps stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye but you seem invested in the car’s dusty dashboard. He really hopes you can’t smell the empty beer bottles in the backseat.

Why did he ever think this was a good idea?

When you pull at the driveway, everything stops for a moment. He can feel your eyes burning holes in his head but he keeps his eyes in the half-empty parking lot. You can basically see the war in his head.

But then, in an instant, as if breaking some weird spell, he looks at you with a small smile and exits the car, rushing all the way to your door to help you out – a new side to Chief Hopper.

Dinner is easier. It’s awkward, he does regret the choice of restaurant, but treating his new colleague to burgers didn’t seem like the better option. You’re stuck with families and couples around you.

The table in between you helps… creates a necessary distance so he can focus on making conversation and not the fact that you’re not wearing pantyhose underneath that dress. When the food arrives, silence prevails once again. Both of you keep your gazes cast downward, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Oh, God.”

Jim’s head whips up at the sound of your voice. Your look is sheepish.

“I just realized I’m gonna have to go back to the station. I left my car there.”

“You drive? Flo’s always said her house is ten minutes away.”

“It is, but the weather is getting warmer and no one deserves to walk that far in heels and makeup.”

His laugh is roaring but it suits him, “I guess you have a point.”

“I always do.”

You smirk at him and suddenly every bit of confidence inside him crumbles.

“I-I could drive you back.”

“You could? I figured you’d be needed at home by now.”

“Not really, El’s spending the night at a friend’s. El is my-“

“Your daughter, I know.” He looks at you and your eyes widen, “Sorry, agents Callahan and Powell…”

“…Told you everything, of course. So how much do you know, should I be worried?”

“Oh, well, nothing bad. Just that you live alone and you adopted a girl some years ago. It’s my fault, really, I was just curious to know you are always the last one to leave the station. I’m really sorry.”

You smile at him apologetically, cheeks dimpling. It seems he can never handle the women in his life.

Stories of the weaker sex fade away with fluttering eyelashes and sickly sweet smiles.

You have your own weapons.

“So since you’ve been informed so well by the best gossips in town, it seems the odds are uneven here.”

“Alright then, what do you want to know?”

Everything really. Jim knows you moved here from Indianapolis, but he’s more interested in where you grew up. He’s awfully fond of the gleam in your eyes when you talk about your family and your major in communications.

It’s awfully hard to continue thinking of you as a youngling when you’re so perfectly mature both in and out of work. He likes you and that’s going to be a problem.

Ordering wine was also a very bad decision, but the euphoria of a second glass loosens him up and brings another side of Hop onto the surface. A bolder side who’s growing more curious every minute.

“Are you here permanently or…?”

“Or… It’s just temporary until I’m not needed here. My aunt says I’m welcome to stay, but I don’t see what else I could do in this town. Unless you can make some calls and get me a job in some other office.”

He laughs into his glass, wiping wine from his mustache with the pearl white napkin.

“I could do that, as long as there’s nothing keep you back.”

Jim watches one of your eyebrows lift, lips parting in shock. Were they always so swollen?

It must be your insistent rubbing them to get rid of the lipstick before you made a mess of it eating.

Shit, he’s getting distracted.

“You’d do that?”

He doesn’t like the disbelief in your voice. Must’ve made a terrible impression as an employer.

“O’ course. You’re great at your job, there’s no denying it, and I know people who need that. This is no Indianapolis but we’ve got our fair share of businesses. I’ll put in a word.”

Your eyes are glistening again. “Thank you, sir.”

“Please don’t call me that. Makes me feel old.”

You laugh and it’s loud and sweet and people are staring at you but you don’t seem to notice. Jim doesn’t either because he’s awfully distracted by your nose scrunching up and the way you bite your still swollen lips to quiet yourself.

Oh yeah, this is going to be a problem.


	3. Sunday Punch

There is most certainly some cursed, wicked power in control of the universe, always eager to make a mess where there should be none. Some say it’s bad luck, others call it ‘Murphy’s law’. Jim likes to call it being Sunday punched by God himself at any given opportunity.

It’s funny, really. There was a time when working one door away from a sweet young thing would be far from bad. Faint memories of the reception back at the precinct remain, a girl named Tiffany with hair like concrete from the hairspray and a high-pitched voice she lowered just for him, always smacking gum and taking phone calls.

She wasn’t much to listen to, but rather nice to look at.

You’re… a whole other thing, to put it lightly. 

There’s nothing but softness about you and it translates into your every move. He’s certain you would blend into the walls if you could, always eager to make your presence as discreet as possible. He sometimes wishes you would, just so he could take his eyes off you.

Today you knock on his door an hour late, it’s nearing five and Jim tries to pretend he hasn’t noticed.

“Come in!” His back straightens, relieving the old chair from some of his weight for once.

The sound of your pumps precedes you. Your dress is blue and airy and probably matches his eyes.

“Sorry about the delay, I had to type out the rest of the Shirley report and it was a handful.”

His smile is warm, mustache lifting along with the corners of his mouth, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I got your coffee, black as always.”

“Is that a hint of judgment in your sweet voice, Miss Pearlman?”

“For your horrible tastes in coffee? Of course not, Chief.”

The man chuckles, drags his eyes away from the glimmering chain on your neck. It hangs dangerously close to what’s forbidden, almost hidden from his gaze but not enough for the sake of his sanity.

“Not all of us have a sweet tooth.”

“Well, that’s too bad because I have a Tupperware filled with pie and your name on it.”

There it is, the Sunday punch.

Jim’s stomach drops, heart clenching painfully.

“You brought me pie?”

“Sure did, it’s sugar cream. It ain’t much but I haven’t had the time to do shopping in between hospital visits and work. I was gonna give it to you this morning, but got distracted with the case-”

The man is speechless, gaping at you with wide blue eyes and every inch of his body awakened.

“Sweetheart, you brought me pie.”

“Well yeah, I made way too much for just one. Figured El might like it too.”

You smile and place the bright orange container on his desk. It’s not even open yet and the smell is killing him. He can’t remember the last time he tasted homemade pie. You even put a fork inside, ever thoughtful.

“You’re too good to me.”

“You deserve it, chief. Been working so hard, you can’t possibly have the time for much cooking.”

Something swells inside him at the tiniest hint of praise. It screams trouble.

“Even if I did, my culinary skills don’t go far past overcooked pasta.”

“To each his own, we all got our special talents.”

Your eyes are on him while he takes a bite, waiting for a reaction. Cream and sugar melt on his tongue, a lovely contrast to the crispy crust. God, he’s missed good food.

“Well yours is clearly cooking because this is great.”

Your laugh is sweet as any, “Couldn’t be otherwise, it runs in the family.”

“I wouldn’t know. Your aunt’s been trying to get my diet in line for years, all I’ve tasted are her finger sandwiches at the office parties. She’s pretty determined to keep me in shape.”

“Well, I trust that you don’t tell on me when she comes back.”

“As long as you keep tryin’ to fatten me up.”

“Deal.” His palms are sweaty when you shake hands, but you don’t seem to mind.

There’s something electric about touching each other, even in this distant way. Both of you always run so hot, the contact is almost cooling – a perfect balance. You pretend you don’t notice.

The atmosphere dissipates rather quickly with the piercing sound of a phone ringing. You reach for it instinctively but Jim stops you, reminding you he’s got this.

You smile sheepishly and prepare to take your leave. He stops you again, his free hand wrapped around your arm and swallowing it whole. Eyes meet and he mouths a ‘stay’ before returning to his conversation.

_“El, is that you, sweetheart?”_

You can only hear the distant muttering and cries of a girl – his daughter, you assume.

_“Honey, what do you mean you’re dying? Please calm down and talk to me.”_

More crying in the line.

_“Blood? What do you mean there’s blood? El, where is there blood?”_

All you can do is watch as Jim springs from his chair, almost knocking the desk over in the process. He is panicking, and for good reason.

_“Everywhere? Okay, I’m coming, sweetheart. I’m coming, I’ll be right there.”_

The moment he puts the phone down, he’s reaching for his hat, flushed red from head to toe. You call his name but he doesn’t answer.

“Chief, what’s going on?”

Again, no answer. His desk is a mess of papers and the car keys are nowhere to be found. A stream of curses escapes his lips, unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him.

“Chief, talk to me, please! Is she okay?”

“I-I don’t know. She says there’s blood everywhere and shit, I don’t know.”

“Did she get hurt?”

“She says it doesn’t hurt but she woke up and her sheets and clothes had blood,”

“Jim, calm down, you can’t help her if you have a stroke.”

When he looks up at you, his face is burning up. Of course, you worry.

“Sit down and drink this.” You push a glass of water towards him.

“I don’t have time, I need to get her to the hospital.”

“Wait, chief, I don’t think that’s the case.”

“What d’ you mean?”

He looks at you again, almost in tears. You gather it’s because of his blood pressure spiking.

“I mean it’s probably puberty knocking on your door. Has she gotten her period before?”

His eyes widen and then close in realization. All he offers is a soft ‘oh’.

“Shit, I didn’t think of that. What do I do? I have no idea when it comes to this stuff.”

“Calm down first and foremost, you don’t want to cause her any more panic. I’ll rush to the market and get you everything she needs and you can go home and comfort her. I’ll bring them right over.”

His body collides with yours, almost knocking you over had it not been for strong arms holding you to him.

Then as quickly as it happened, it’s over and he’s out the door.

* * *

Half an hour later, Jim answers the door with an awkward smile, awfully aware of the situation. It doesn’t help that you’re at his home, in his space, with the same charming smile and teal dress he’d like to get his hands on.

“Hey,”

“Hi.”

He steps to the side, allowing you in. Your hip brushes against him and it’s painful.

“Thank you for coming, I’m hopeless here.”

“Oh don’t mention it, chief. Is El feeling better?”

“I’d like to think so. She’s still kind of shaken, I had a hard time explaining things.” 

It brings a smile to your face; this big man in charge of an entire town and at a loss when handling a girl.

“Well, I’m sure you did a great job. She can ask me anything she wants too, I don’t mind.”

“Dad?” Both of you whip around to meet the bloodshot eyes of a small brunette.

“Hey, sweetheart. Did you have a good nap?”

His voice is honey when addressing her, his eyes soft. It’s hard to pretend it doesn’t melt your insides.

The girl seems more interested in you, “Are you Miss Pearlman?”

“Y-Yeah, that’s me. It’s nice meeting you.”

“I like your dress.”

“Thank you! I love your hair.”

Her smile is blinding, warm and genuine and her darling face flushes. She’s not used to compliments.

“I got you some stuff to help with your problem… snack in some chocolate.”

You whisper the last part and she laughs, turning to Jim. He’s beaming at her, the panic and discomfort of the last hour fading at the effortless exchange before him. He’s always weary when it comes to El.

“Go on then, open them.”

You watch as she disappears in her bedroom, a weight lifting off your shoulders. Jim’s eyes are on you.

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“Jim, I told you, it’s no big deal,”

“It is for me. Doing this alone is… tough sometimes. She’s special and I wanna do right by her but I struggle most of the time and-“

You don’t say anything, just hug him – hold him tight and much too inappropriately considering your position. Jim doesn’t care and neither do you. He needs this too much.

El clears her voice behind you, wearing the same sheepish look as her dad often does and your bodies detach like someone fired a gunshot.

“Sorry… I-I don’t know what to do with these.”

You turn to the larger man whose desperation is written all over his face.

“Come on, I’ll explain it to you.”

Jim smiles in the now empty room. Today God is pulling his punches.


End file.
